Found Horizons Challenge - The Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

Reason for Reading: This is another of those books that I really ought to have read an age ago, and in fact it's been on my challenge lists as long as I've been setting myself reading challenges. I've heard abridged versions, but with the adaptation and the state of the world making it such a relevant talking point, this felt like the moment to go the whole hog.

Set in the not too distant future, The Handmaid's Tale is the story of Offred, a handmaid in the theocratic post-America of Gilead, a society in which faith is a cudgel and fertile women are assigned to the households of the childless elite to bear children for them. It's a nightmarish dystopia, yet one not a million miles from where we live today, with the flashbacks to the emergence of Gilead through a series of executive orders and incremental cessation of liberty as salutary a warning as ever they were. Offred's story is explicitly an unreliable narrative, which the epilogue suggests could as easily be some sort of post-Gilead propaganda as a genuine account of the times, but only in the personal sense. The wider narrative never questions the nature of Gilead - the tyranny and corruption, the hypocritical theocracy, the grim subjugation of women's reproductive faculties - only the individual narrative which provides it with a personal, emotional context, which is, in itself, a commentary on the drive to personalise 'history', both in and out of fiction. By focusing on Offred(1), The Handmaid's Tale gives us an individual to connect with, but the epilogue gives us one last caution by reminding the reader that actually the horror of this story is not that it is happening to one specific person, but that it is happening to everyone.

Of course, the real problem with reviewing The Handmaid's Tale is finding something new to say about it. It's not just a classic, but its recent adaptation pushed it back to the forefront of cultural discussion, so basically anything that was going to be said about it - its original relevance, its contemporary resonance, its literary value and influence - has been said more than once. On a more personal level, it would be untrue to say that I enjoyed it - it's hard skating, and portrays a horrible nation in mundane detail - but I certainly appreciated it.

(1) One of the things that an audio adaptation can hide is that the handmaids' names are in the form 'Of X', where X is the name of their Commander, thus further annihilating their individuality; the one on BBC 7 pronounced them all 'off' as if they were a government regulatory and inspecting body

2017 Reading Challenge - Roadside Picnic

I'm sad that the audio version omits the foreword.

Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

Reason for Reading: The film Stalker was recommended to me ages ago. I have a copy, but have never watched it, because it takes a special time slot to sit down and enjoy a subtitled movie without getting sidetracked. I've also owned the book for a while, but struggled somewhat to get into it. For whatever reason, I decided to take a pass at it on Audible (in a fairly high-profile edition, using a new translation and the Oscar-nominated Robert Forster as a reader.)

The novel is set in the years following an alien visit, which left a series of Zones around the world, filled with alien technology and weird, deadly effects. These Zones are studied by scientists, but also plundered by stalkers, thieves and smugglers who loot alien artefacts from the Zones for profit. The novel primarily follows the fortunes of Red Schuhart, a young stalker and sometime employee of the institute set up to study the Zone in Harmont, Canada. Caught between his criminal fraternity and family commitments, Red is pushed to make one last trip into the Zone, in search of the ultimate prize.

While written under the Soviet system and thus scathingly critical of Canada's capitalist response to the Zone, Roadside Picnic gives a grubby, roughhewn appeal to its flawed and broken characters. It's probably best characterised as SF noir, which is a sorely underrepresented field now that I think of it. It doesn't have much of a plot, or even arcs for its characters - Red begins by getting someone killed by trying to do someone a favour, then ends by getting someone killed trying to help himself and his family - but is more in the way of a short snapshot of the community who surround and exploit the Zone. Like a lot of noir, I find it appealing, but not deeply engaging, which coupled poorly with the largely unlikeable characters to make an interesting book with a lot of great ideas, but not a really gripping one.

Reading Roundup - September 2016

Ink and Bone by Rachel Caine is a steampunky alchemical fantasy, set in a world in which the dominant global power is the Great Library of Alexandria. Popular technology is largely Victorian, while the great institutions of the world - most notably the Library itself - have access to high speed trains and sophisticated automata, much of it based on the Library's monopoly on the practice of Alchemy. The Library also seeks to assert ownership over all original works, allowing access to books through blanks, alchemical Kindles able to download any book from the Library through their pages.

Jess Brightwell is a London lad, born into a family of book smugglers who deal in rare original manuscripts. Lacking the mercenary zeal for the business, his father buys him a place on the Library's apprentice course, hoping to place a family member in a position of advantage. Along with his cohort and under the firm hand of Scholar Wolfe, he undergoes the harsh and competitive process of training and selection, but before graduation, the pupils and their teacher are all plunged into a life and death struggle, not just against those who would destroy the Library's power, but against the Library itself.

Subject of many rave reviews, Ink and Bone has a slow start, and suffers somewhat from placing its narrative focus on Jess, whose vacillation makes him perhaps understandable, but also one of the less compelling and likable of the students. In addition, one of the major twists at the end of the book is not only cruel, but predictable, and as much as I hoped it might be averted, cast something of a pall over the pacier second half of the story. I'm also not sure how I felt about the seeming assertion that burning books is better than letting the Library monopolise them. Still, I might go for the next in the sequence, and Ben Allen provides a lively narration.

Book Two of Charlie Fletcher's Oversight series, The Paradox, returns us to a London in the care of the Free Company of the London Oversight, the group who police the boundary between the mundane and the magical like Pilgrim's heavily-armed younger brothers and sisters. Despite the recent recruitment of Charlie Piefinch and Lucy Harker, the Oversight is still in a parlous state, especially with Jack Sharpe and Sara Falk still lost in the mirrors. As the two young recruits enter training, Sharpe and Falk seek for each other, avoid the sinister John Dee and the hungry wights of the mirror realms, and eventually come upon the secret behind the near-destruction of the Oversight. Meanwhile, other forces are moving, other Free Companies and freelancers are hunting. The Sluagh are looking for a way to be free of the ancient bane of iron, the Citizen schemes, and the House of Templebane is seeking its revenge.

The Paradox suffer a bit from middle volume sag, and a lot of its time is spent moving from beginning to end, rather than doing its own thing. Lucy Harker also comes off badly, her understandable reluctance to trust or be tied down unfortunately mutating into an unlikable selfish streak. The other characters are more balanced between strengths and flaws, and perhaps the most interesting theme of the book is raised by the Sluagh chieftain who tells the Smith that the Oversight is supposed to protect the border, but only ever do so in one direction, allowing the mundane to bind the old world in iron. This is never really followed up, but hopefully will be returned to in book 3.

Charlie Fletcher is not as good a reader as Simon Prebble, but neither is he as bad as many Audible reviews make out.

My final September book - I've been getting back into audio plays in a big way - is The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu, one of the leading works of the modern Chinese SF scene. Set through the Cultural Revolution, it is an alien invasion story in which no aliens actually invade, instead somehow manipulating the universe in such a way as to convince scientists that physics does not work, driving several to suicide and aiming to paralyse human progress in preparation for the actual invasion in about four hundred years time.

Translator Ken Liu and narrator Luke Daniels convert the text into one redolent with familiar idiom, and while the details of the Cultural Revolution may be surprising to western readers/listeners, as they were to me, the production as a whole eschews the lure of oriental exoticism and lets the speculative fiction speak for itself. As with The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet there is a section which takes the narrative viewpoint away to the alien world of Trisolaris which, for my money, is the weakest part of the book. I would have liked to have seen more of that background explored through the Three Body game, but I kind of understand the choice. It's definitely worth a read, and quite different to anything else I've read.

The Dystopia Chronicles

In his sequel to The Atopia Chronicles, Matthew Mather gets apocalyptic.

The artificial island state of Atopia is rapidly securing a place at the centre of the US-led Alliance, and pushing for war against its corporate and ideological enemies. Those enemies believe that there is something more than merely human in this malice, that an ancient enemy is reaching out from prehistory to snuff out civilisation. Caught in the middle, Bob and his friends struggle to restore order to a world seemingly gone mad.

The Dystopia Chronicles is a relatively decent techno-apocalyptic thriller, but I was disappointed that Mather abandoned the multiple narrative structure which was one of the main strengths of The Atopia Chronicles. Given the conspiracy-driven nature of the plot (the specific technological aspects are far less important than in the first book) the presence of an omniscient narrator is much less effective than a collective of unreliable voices would have been, not least because the book's final twist was so perfectly placed to provide a meta-fictional justification for that model.

As with the first, I listened to this book in audiobook form, thanks to Kindle Unlimited. The performance was good, but I missed the multi-voice recording of Atopia.

Not a bad book then, but ultimately not as good as I had hoped.

The Atopia Chronicles

Kindle Unlimited is slowing me down by offering free audiobook readings. I like audiobooks, but they go slower than reading a book myself. On the other hand, I'll probably drop Unlimited in a few days when the free trial expires, and it's been a nice interlude.

The most recent 'read' from my list is Matthew Mathers' The Atopia Chronicles, a complex novel of interweaving narratives set largely on the artificial floating island state of Atopia at the dawn of an era of synthetic reality. A fusion of AI and VR, synthetic reality is intended to save the world by giving everyone everything they could want at a fraction of the material cost of real-world equivalents. While adults struggle to adjust to the new technology - skins which overlay and filter reality, a proxxi alter ego to control your body while you explore the metaverse, and even the ability to distribute your consciousness into dozens of subjective viewpoints simultaneously - the first generation to have had access from birth are reaching maturity on Atopia.

The Atopia Chronicles begins as a series of interweaving narratives, each exploring aspects of the PSSI (poly-synthetic sensory interface) technology against the backdrop of a world on the brink of ecological collapse. An advertising executive filters out everyone who annoys her and ends up virtually isolated from humanity in a story reminiscent of a Twilight Zone episode. Atopia's security chief and his wife adopt simulated children to try to save their ailing marriage; one of the pssi kids struggles with his relationship with his brothers while another misplaces his corporeal body; a millionaire fights for his life at the heart of a web of predicted future deaths; and the commercial launch of the system becomes intertwined with a plot to destroy Atopia.

The first two-thirds of the novel are the most successful, with the increased presence of the arc plot and the emergence of an almost cartoonish villain diminishing the core strengths as a speculative technological SF story. In a lot of ways, the distributed narrative is strong enough not to need the arc, and certainly not to need a villain, and there is a curious parallel with the fictional universe, with the more interesting technique ultimately being subjugated by conventional narrative devices even as Atopia's ideals are subjugated by a self-made monster.

Pure

Fifteen years ago, the Detonations ended the world as it was. What remains is ruin, and the Dome. Who remains are the wretches, scarred and starved, fused to whatever they were holding or touching when the end came, and the Pure, untouched, improved, watching over the wastes from safety. Pressia is a wretch, her fist wrapped in a doll's head. Partridge is a Pure, genetically modified for speed and strength. Yet they are connected.

Pure is the titular first volume of a trilogy by Julianna Baggott, establishing the world of the wretches and the Pure, who between them occupy the ruins of America; or perhaps I should say Gilead, as the descriptions of the old world and its 'return to civility' under the Red Revolution are not dissimilar to the neo-conservative state of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. The primary distinction is that reproduction in Pure is a right, not a duty, to be stripped from women deemed unfit, who can then safely be altered like the men.

Although in places derivative, the book's setting is interesting, but it falls down a little on its characters, especially in the first half. Pressia in particular is almost exclusively reactive in the first half of the book, making no attempt to control her world that is not in response to direct stimulus. Perhaps this is from a life lived in fear, but Baggott seems determined that we know that Pressia is strong and smart and able from the get-go, and as a result she doesn't really kick in as a character until halfway through the book.

A lot of things don't really kick in until the halfway mark, not least the secondary viewpoint characters El Capitan and Lyda, whose first inclusion is actually quite baffling - rather than mysterious - and remains so until their roles are expanded after a significant span. The latter part of the book does show significant promise, once the story puts its cards on the table. It is still done no favours by publicity comparing it to The Hunger Games, but on its own terms is an interesting piece of dystopian fiction.